Page 6

B oyd

I should be taking my own advice right now and getting some sleep.

Instead, I’m out on my balcony, listening to a fucking podcast.

“If you enjoyed this recap of the Mafia Prince Murders, make sure you tune in next week! I’m planning a deep dive into the testimony, all the trial evidence, and the verdict!

” Sarah says from the laptop resting on my thighs.

“That’s all for this week. As always, I’m your host Sarah Parker and these have been… your True Crime Minutes !”

“Fucking Mafia Prince Killer,” I mutter, taking a drag from my cigarette and reaching for my scotch. “People are way too fucking obsessed with murder.”

Ironic, coming from someone in my line of work, but it’s the truth. I don’t kill because I enjoy it. I follow orders. It’s been a while since I’ve had to kill anyone. That’s pretty rare when you’re serving as the bodyguard to the boss’s daughter-in-law.

I blow smoke into the Vegas night, sip my drink, and scroll through Sarah’s podcasts. Why am I doing this? I like to do my job well. If I’ve got to approve content for her podcast, I should at least know what one of her podcasts sounds like.

Or maybe I like her lovely voice, especially when there’s some excitement in it. Her latest podcast didn’t have much of that. It was way too forced.

“Ah, this is her most popular series,” I say. “More Mafia Prince shit, just like she said.”

I start the podcast and notice an immediate difference in Sarah’s voice. It’s more natural. She’s in her element. It’s a beautiful thing to hear.

I smoke, drink, and listen until the end of the podcast, then I start the next one.

I didn’t really follow the Mafia Prince Murders, but I get fully caught up while listening to Sarah’s excited voice.

I feel the exhaustion sinking in before I can get through another one, so I crush out my cigarette, finish my drink, and head inside.

“Why did you have to make me a fucking babysitter, Massimo,” I sigh, tossing my laptop on the couch and walking into my bedroom. “You know how seriously I take my job.”

Except that’s not entirely true. The boss didn’t tell me to take her to dinner.

I could have told her a few stories and dropped her off at the casino.

As long as she’s out of Massimo’s way, he doesn’t care where she is.

I mean, she’s his wife’s best friend and he likes the girl.

He’s just really fucking busy right now.

And deep down, I still think there’s some punishment involved in this. I was Erica’s bodyguard. How was I in the dark about everything? I would have asked the same question if I was sitting at the head of the table.

But I wasn’t involved. I was as surprised as Salvatore Morandi when Erica attempted her coup and tried to kill Salvatore’s sons.

I was following orders, and I didn’t ask questions.

That’s the kind of shit they used to reward in this line of work.

I guess I should be thankful I got put on the sidelines instead of taken for a ride I didn’t come back from.

Sarah’s on my mind again as soon as I get into bed. Her lovely laugh. Her beautiful smile. Those pretty blue eyes when they flicker with nervousness or excitement. Even the way she tilts her head in the most adorable way possible.

And yeah, she’s fucking gorgeous .

My hand slips under the covers and I rub my cock through my boxers.

Sarah’s a brat, but that’s never stopped me before. I know how to handle bratty girls.

“That’s what you need, isn’t it, Sarah?” I growl, closing my eyes. “Someone who knows how to handle you.”

I rub my cock for a few minutes as I imagine her over my knee, her gorgeous ass bared, ready to be handled the right way. As soon as I feel the pressure in my balls, I pull my hand away.

“No, I can’t do that,” I mutter. “The boss didn’t say she’s off limits, which means she isn’t, but I’m already in the fucking doghouse. I don’t need to make things worse.”

My job is simple. Take her around Las Vegas. Tell her stories. Keep her out of Massimo’s way until she goes home. If I do that, I’m off the sidelines and back where I belong.

Easiest assignment ever.

Sarah’s blue eyes are the last thing on my mind when I drift off to sleep.

At eight o’clock, I’m sitting in the café next to the lobby at the Salvalagio Hotel and Casino.

The seat across from me is empty.

“Where the fuck are you at, little girl?” I mutter, glancing at my watch. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Five minutes pass. Then ten. After fifteen, I’m feeling genuinely agitated, but I try to keep my composure. I said eight, but maybe she’s the fashionably late type.

Every time the elevators open, I glance over at them, expecting to see Sarah. Instead, all I see are tourists excited to begin their adventure in Las Vegas and a few that look like Vegas may have already taken a toll.

The minutes tick by. At eight forty-five, she’s well past fashionably late, and I start to worry.

We were at Rafferty’s last night. It’s neutral ground, but the clientele is made up of guys who wouldn’t like their stories being turned into a podcast series.

What if someone overheard something? Followed us?

“No, I got eyes in the back of my head. I’d notice if we were being followed,” I say, trying to reassure myself. “Where the fuck are you, Sarah?”

I can’t bother the boss with this. Not unless I’m sure something has happened to her. And if it has, that’ll blow back on me. I’m the one responsible for Sarah, and her safety is implied, even if Massimo didn’t say it.

“Fuck!” I snarl, getting up from the table.

I walk to the front desk. There are several people working and a number of guests. I want to storm past them all, but I wait my turn. A guy in his twenties finally looks up and motions for me.

“You’re next, sir!” he says cheerfully. “Do you have reservations with us today?”

“No,” I grunt. “I work for Mr. Morandi. There’s a guest here named Sarah Parker. I need her room number and a keycard.”

“Oh, uh…” His cheerfulness fades. “You work for Mr. Morandi? Uh, we don’t usually…”

“I know,” I interrupt. “Just fucking give me the room number and the keycard. I don’t have time to discuss your procedures.”

I stiffen my back and glare at the young man behind the desk. If he’s been working here longer than a few days, I know he’s seen me around. I stick out in a crowd. It’s obvious I work for the Morandi family.

“Y-yes, sir,” he stammers, then turns and types on his keyboard. “Sarah Parker is on the sixth floor, in room two-thirty-six. Give me one minute to make another keycard.”

I drum my fingers against the counter while the guy synchs the keycard. Once the machine beeps, he yanks the card free, puts it in a small envelope, and slides it across the counter.

“Thanks,” I mutter, snatching it up.

I look around the lobby, the café, and the casino.

There’s still no sign of Sarah, so I head to the elevators.

My worry settles in my stomach and leaves some bitterness I try to swallow.

If I fucked up this assignment, I might as well pack my damn bags.

I’ll never be trusted again if something happened to the boss lady’s best friend on my watch. I’m fucking finished.

But I care more about making sure Sarah is safe than my position in the Morandi family. If someone laid a finger on that hot little blonde, I’ll tear them apart piece by piece, and it’ll be a long fucking time before I let them die.

“Damn it,” I hiss when the elevators open.

I march straight to room two-thirty-six and swipe the keycard. The light blinks green, so I reach for my Glock as I push the door open.

The room is dark. The curtains are closed.

I don’t see any sign of a struggle. There are clothes on the floor, Sarah’s phone is on the nightstand, and there’s a lump in the middle of one of the beds.

A beautiful lump with a blonde bob and some skin peeking out from under the covers that I notice once my vision comes into focus.

She’s fine. She’s still sleeping. I let out a breath of relief and shake my head.

“Time to get up, little girl!” I say loudly, then kick the bed hard enough to shake it.

“What the fuck!” Sarah sits up like she’s been shot out of a rocket. Her eyes fly open, and I can tell she’s struggling to see in the dark. I wait for her vision to focus. “Boyd? What are you doing in my room?”

“It’s after nine,” I growl, looking at my watch. “We agreed to meet at eight.”

I walk over to the curtains and yank them open. The sun floods her room and when I turn around, Sarah has her hand up to cover her face, which has let the blanket slip far enough for me to see the outline of her tits against her sleepshirt.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry!” Sarah yanks the blanket up and grabs her phone. She fumbles with it and then lets out a loud groan. “I set the alarm for eight p.m. instead of a.m.!”

“I guess you really did need some rest,” I say, relaxing a little now that I know she’s safe. “But it’s time to get up.”

“Yeah,” she whispers, scooting to the edge of the bed. “I need to shower and get ready.”

“I’ll go get coffee, then we can just go over your notes in here,” I mutter. “Tell me what you want.”

Sarah perks up at the mention of coffee and gives me her order.

I leave her room, return to the lobby, and step outside for a cigarette.

She’ll need more than a few minutes, so I’ll give it to her.

After I finish my cigarette, I walk back inside, order the coffee, and collect the cups once it’s ready.

My second trip up the elevator to Sarah’s room is a lot less panicked than the first. I’m not happy she kept me waiting and made me worry, but I’m glad she’s okay. I don’t like what I was feeling when I was scared something could have happened to her.

Once I get to Sarah’s room, I swipe the keycard again, but crack the door, rather than pushing it open.

“Are you dressed?” I call out.

“Almost, just a minute!” Sarah replies.

It’s tempting to push the door open and have a peek, but I restrain myself.

Once she’s dressed, I walk inside. Sarah is sitting on the bed wearing a pair of shorts that barely cover the lower curve of her ass—sitting, at least. Her t-shirt is a band I’ve never heard of, but that’s no surprise.

I don’t keep up with what is popular these days.

“I-I’m sorry I overslept,” Sarah says, looking up at me with a sheepish half-smile. “I was really tired.”

“It’s fine,” I say, sitting down on the other bed and motioning to the notebook in front of her. “That where you wrote everything down?”

“Yep,” Sarah confirms. “I wrote down everything from my phone, and the rest of what I could remember. And no names, just like you said.”

Sarah gets up and hands me the notebook, then she walks into the bathroom to do her makeup.

I flip through her notes and sigh as I read everything.

She didn’t use names, but she might as well have.

Initials? Really? Mr. L? Mr. P? Like I don’t immediately know that is referencing Mr. Luciano and Mr. Petrovic. They were sitting right behind us.

I feel some anger surfacing, but I swallow it.

That doesn’t mean I won’t address this.

Maybe I need to address the fact she worried me half to death and kept me waiting so long, too.